


Professional Distance

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Drinking Games, F/M, HR Complaint waiting to happen, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When his new Archivist has too much to drink at his birthday party, Elias sees an opening...Suggestive but not quite an E
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 48
Kudos: 284
Collections: Anonymous





	Professional Distance

"Never have I ever washed a load of laundry," Sasha declares. It's a lie, and Elias watches Tim's eyes emote at Sasha as he drinks. He is, Elias knows, thinking back to the first time the two of them fucked, stripped in the entryway of her flat after being caught in a rain storm, how she had tossed their wet clothes in the washing machine before pushing him up against it. Sasha's eyes crinkle back as she hides a smile behind her hand.  
  
Elias drinks with the rest, disappointing Sasha. It was another question designed to catch him, personally, out and she honestly had caught him. But that's none of her business.  
  
"You've really never done a load of laundry?" Martin's openly judgmental. "What is it, the lady doesn't sully her hands?"  
  
"Not at all," she shrugs. "I just never got around to it."  
  
"Never got around to it?" There's an indignant squeak in his voice.  
  
"It was my sister's chore, and then I lived at home during uni. And then when I moved into my first flat, the guy I was living with did our laundry. And now, well, when I moved into my current place, the woman downstairs came up and told me about her laundry service, wash and fold, very reasonable rates, she made me feel I'd be taking the bread out of her children's mouths if I said no."  
  
"Huh."  
  
"I can't imagine letting a stranger handle my underthings," Jon says. Elias looks at him. Everyone looks at him. Jon is looking down, though, fumbling confusedly again at a breast pocket that hasn't held a pack of cigarettes in nearly ten years. Elias dearly wishes he had one right now. Imagines Jon swaying forward to let him place it between his lips. Light it.  
  
He crosses his legs.  
  
"Right, let's just let that one hang," Tim says, the next one along the table.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't worry about it, Jon. Never have I ever…" he looks at Sasha, and Elias doesn't have to be a mindreader to know he's about to tell an outrageous lie, "bought an album."  
  
"Do you mean a literal vinyl?" Martin asks.  
  
"Never have I ever paid for music." He bought Sasha an import of an early Japanese Metal band he thought she'd like for her last birthday. She doesn't call out his lie, and she also doesn't drink.  
  
"Really, Sasha?"  
  
"Yo ho ho."  
  
"My pirate queen," Tim executes a flourishing bow that nearly has him headbutt her in the breast.  
  
Elias clears his throat. "Apropos of nothing in particular, may I remind the room that your employment contracts prohibit the use of company resources for any purpose that violates national law." Good to stay in character.  
  
"You heard it from the boss's very lips, Sash--no more bitcoin mining"  
  
"Bitcoin mining is legal, Tim. Honestly, hacking is _right_ there."  
  
"Not to mention the terabytes of eldritch pornography."  
  
"Also legal." She playfully knocks her fist against his head.  
  
Martin drinks, of course, but only lets the liquor touch his lip and fall back into the glass. No one has yet called him out on the way the level of his glass stays the same with every round. Elias lets his mind brush up against Martin's. Martin's in such horror of the idea of making a fool of himself in front of Jon, he hasn't noticed Jon's long past caring, himself.  
  
Elias suspects Jon's the only one not cheating. He himself has defined his own rules to make the game more interesting: get Jon to drink by any means but reading his mind.  
  
He's done very well so far, three rounds for three. Never have I had a cigarette. Never have I sung karaoke. Never have I stolen a library book.  
  
It's Martin's turn. "Never have I ever...hmm...done illicit drugs?"  
  
"Define 'illicit.'" Tim says. "Does it include off-label uses for prescription drugs?"  
  
Sasha pushes his glass toward his face. "If you're having to pick at technicalities, you should just drink."  
  
"No one else?" Martin says, disappointed. "What a sad bunch of wet blankets."  
  
"We're librarians, Martin," Jon says, nearly drinking just because the glass is in his hand, before catching himself.  
  
"Your point?"  
  
"We don't _do_ things," he explains. "We live vicariously. Through books about people who do things."  
  
Jeers and denials from around the table. And that's…interesting. The frustration underlaying the irony in Jon's voice. What is it, Jon, Elias wonders, that you wish you could do?  
  
Jon's jacket has been discarded, sleeves pushed to his elbows, tie loosened and top button undone. His face is flushed, hair a bit disheveled from where he's been pulling at it. He's glaring thoughtfully at the surface of the card table over the rim of his drink while the others banter. He looks, Elias thinks, like a man right on the cusp of a really bad decision. He doesn't think he'll be lucky enough to get Jon into this state twice.  
  
"Never have I ever slept with a direct supervisor," Elias says.  
  
Martin chokes on nothing, coughing himself purple. Tim drinks, smiling slyly.  
  
"Careful wording there, I notice." Sasha raises an eyebrow at him. " _Direct_ supervisor?"  
  
Elias is saved from elaborating when Martin tries to sneak a quick drink.  
  
"Martin, have you-"  
  
"I don't want to get into it."  
  
_"Martin!"_  
  
Jon is watching the three of them openly, as Sasha and Tim try to tease Martin's story out of him. He doesn't look embarrassed by the sex talk, as Elias would have expected, but sort of thoughtful. Wistful?  
  
Elias reaches carefully over Jon's shoulder and runs the tip of his finger up the side of his neck.  
  
Jon's reaction is slowed and broadened by drink. When he turns curiously towards Elias, he turns his whole body. His eyes track Elias's fingers as he rolls and flicks away a nonexistent piece of lint.  
  
"Got it."  
  
"Oh. Right. Thank you."  
  
Elias takes the glass from his hand, and grabs the bottle from the middle of the table.  
  
Jon laughs helplessly, covers the glass with his hand. "Oh no. Baaaad idea."  
  
"You're almost out." Does he dare take Jon's hand and move it?  
  
"I shouldn't drink all your whiskey. It was expensive, wasn't it?"  
  
"You don't need to worry about that. Entertaining budget."  
  
"It tastes expensive."  
  
"Jon, it's your birthday. How often do you get to cut loose a little?"  
  
"We're...we're on the clock, aren't we?"  
  
Elias checks his wrist. "Not for the last half hour."  
  
"Oh, um. Alright."  
  
Elias pours him a drop. "More?"  
  
He shakes his head, grinning. "I'd like to be able to make it home." _Come back to mine._ It's hard not to say it. He's been drinking all afternoon too, of course, and seeing Jon in this loose, dreamy state is unknotting things in him as well.  
  
Elias doesn't consider himself a very sex-focused person. There are other bodily pleasures just as fine. But his long life and uncanny sight have combined to unlock dimensions of enjoyment closed to most. To wit: the piercing bittersweetness of fucking someone you know will be dead soon.  
  
And Jon's already very sweet, behind his ridiculous defenses. Eager to do well, eager to please, eager to be good. Even, most shamefully, to be liked. Jon's very unused to being liked. A bit of alcohol to soften him up, and a bit of positive attention to dissolve him the rest of the way--Elias doesn't think this will be terribly difficult.  
  
The conversation has turned back to the game. It's Jon's turn. "Never have I ever...never have I ever…" He bites his lip, on the edge of some truly momentous confession, and it takes all of Elias's self control not to reach into his mind and take it.  
  
"Gone home from work early."  
  
They all jeer at him and drink. "I believe it," Tim says. "Remember what he was like when he got food poison-"  
  
Jon lunges across the table, nearly upsetting the empty wine bottle from earlier, and slaps his hand over Tim's mouth.  
  
"That's enough from you, Tim." Tim goes on, expressively, muffled behind Jon's hand.  
  
Sasha and Martin are taking their cues and getting to their feet, Martin finally finishing the last bite of his cake. He knows the importance of a man of his size not being seen to eat too quickly.  
  
Jon retracts his hand from Tim's mouth, wiping it on his shirtfront disgustedly.  
  
"What does the handbook say about _licking_ your direct supervisor, Elias?" Jon asks peevishly.  
  
_Excellent for morale._ "Refer to the appendix on biohazard containment protocols," he says instead.  
  
"Does it consitute cause for dismissal?"  
  
"You'd miss me, boss." Jon, on the other side of the table, isn't close enough to hug, so Tim seizes Sasha and Martin around the waist and pulls them in instead, laughing. "We're a good group, aren't we? You love us."  
  
Jon laughs as well. "Go home. Have a good weekend. Thank you for the, um…"  
  
He wobbles getting to his feet as Elias hoped he might, and Elias is ready with an arm around his waist.  
  
"Right," he goes on, after a long, bewildered pause. Martin, being dragged out the door by Tim, is looking back at Jon and Elias, slightly panicked, "careful going home."  
  
"Alright, so who won?" Conversation echoes back down the hallway for several moments, while Jon and Elias just stand. Elias can feel the tension in Jon's back beneath his arm. It's clear enough what's going through his mind: _Is this what it feels like? What if it is what it feels like? What now?_  
  
Jon, at last, moves away. But not too far, just stepping toward the table and reaching across it to grab the cap for the whiskey and screw it on tight.  
  
"I should clean up a bit. Wouldn't want to leave this mess for the cleaners." Without any further prompting from Elias, he grabs his glass and empties it. It's a picture Elias will want to remember--Jon bracing one hand on the table for balance, head thrown back, long line of his throat working above his loosened collar.  
  
"They do adore you, you know," Elias says.  
  
"The cleaners?"  
  
"You picked the right crew, and I can tell you've inspired a great deal of loyalty in the past couple months."  
  
Jon mutters something about not being able to take credit for having picked the _entire_ crew. Uncomfortable in a pleased way. Elias was right about him being unused to compliments. He moves to help clear the table.  
  
"I don't think I've said this outright before, but I'm very pleased with your progress."  
  
Jon scoffs.  
  
"I'm seriously impressed I was able to pick my way through this room without tripping over old boxes, let alone have the space to set up a card table."  
  
"That's all Martin, actually."  
  
"I had a feeling you'd have a knack for developing, hmm...let's say 'underperformers.'"  
  
Jon stops, blinks in the middle of collecting all the used plates and utensils. Elias can see him struggle with whether to grouse about Martin or defend him. The third possibility, simply taking the compliment, doesn't occur to him. While he's distracted, Elias comes closer again, taking the pile from his hands, letting their fingers brush. When he turns back after throwing the trash away, he catches Jon staring at him. Jon hastily turns back to the table, finding the plastic lid for the cake tray and fumbling it closed.  
  
"Martin...Martin does his best. You just have to stay on top of him."  
  
Elias almost snickers aloud at that. "Tim and Sasha's work has been characteristically thorough. And I'm pleased with your progress on the accessibility project. Here, let me." He takes the cake from Jon's unsteady hands and heads toward the door. Jon follows like a dizzy baby duck.  
  
"If this is an evaluation, it could wait until I'm a little more clearheaded."  
  
"An evaluation?" Elias smiles. "You like to keep social interactions purely in the framework of the professional, don't you?"  
  
"If so, I'm a bit of a failure, letting my subordinates bully me into playing drinking games all afternoon."  
  
"It's good, Jon." Elias flicks on the light in the breakroom, then turns back over his shoulder. He wants to push into Jon's mind, to evaluate how _good Jon_ is hitting. No, it's cheating. Elias already has enough of an advantage. "Letting those barriers down from time to time is good for group cohesion."  
  
Jon laughs, then leans against the door frame. "You're the one who sounds like a bloody training seminar." He's grinning at Elias as he puts the cake away, one hand playing with his hair. The skin of his throat, his forearms, is smooth and unmarked. Elias is suddenly wild with the thought of marking Jon himself, staking his claim bodily before the Dread Powers, while Jon's skin is still innocent as a blank page. Bite the insides of his thighs, suck a noose of bruises around his throat.  
  
Maybe Jon catches something in Elias's eyes, maybe he just belatedly registers his own cheek, but he drops his eyes, muttering an apology.  
  
"For what?" Elias wonders. Again, he steps a little bit closer to Jon than is comfortable. Jon looks up at him, eyes wide, then away.  
  
"It was unprofessional."  
  
"You're not paying attention," Elias says patiently. Should he reach out, tip Jon's chin up? Not quite yet. "It's alright to be a little unprofessional from time to time. Good, even."  
  
Jon's caught his drift, but can't quite believe what he's hearing yet. Elias moves closer. "Why did you follow me in here, Jon?"

Jon has a multitude of safe answers. _We were talking. I thought I could help. Sorry, what?_ Instead, he says pugnaciously, "Why did you touch my neck?" and draws an equivalency between their actions Elias is certain he didn't mean to. It's so much better than he could have hoped for.  
  
"Why _did_ I touch your neck? I saw a little piece of lint sticking to your collar, and thought I'd fix it for you, of course." He raises his hands to Jon's collar, straightens it unecessarily, and then leaves his hands, feeling Jon's chest rise and fall. Jon's eyes are big and curious on his, like an animal or a child. "You're such a mess. Honestly, Jon, what were you expecting me to say?" He drops his voice. "'It's a very nice neck and I wanted to?'"  
  
Expressions are unfolding across Jon's face in slow motion like a fireworks show. Embarrassment, fear, confusion, something that might be hope. His hands rise to grasp Elias's wrists. Elias watches him think about pushing him away, but he doesn't.  
  
"What is happening right now?" he says helplessly.  
  
_Now._  
  
Elias kisses him. He's warm and soft, breath rosey with alcohol. To Elias's delight, Jon's the one to deepen the kiss, surging away from the wall to press himself closer to Elias, swiping his tongue across Elias's lips. Elias pushes him back against the wall, and Jon falls against it with a soft moan. Going one further, he grabs Jon's wrists, pinning them over his head. Jon sucks at his mouth hungrily in response, grinding against Elias, who's feeling incredibly smug. Didn't even have to cheat. What else might Jon like, he wonders, in the same genre? A little choking? A little slapping to bring the blood up on his cheeks?  
  
Jon's flushed enough already, when Elias pulls away just enough to get at his fly, chest heaving like he's run a mile.  
  
"T-that question you asked earlier...about sleeping with a supervisor…"  
  
"Yes, Jon. I was flirting a bit. You figured it out," Elias says wryly.  
  
_"Obviously."_ Jon laughs softly. "It's just, if we do this, no one can ever find out."  
  
"I'm the soul of discretion," Elias protests. He nuzzles briefly against Jon before pulling back. "I have quite a lot to lose myself, if this got out. A sexual harrassment retraining would be the least of it."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Would you believe I've never done this either?"  
  
"Frankly, no. You're a little too good at it."  
  
Elias presses a grinning kiss to Jon's mouth, leaning into Jon just enough to check--yes, he's still hard. "Maybe you're just easy."  
  
"I'm serious. I know you...you think they like me, but. Well. What you saw today wasn't typical."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"When you're not likable, respect is the only lever you have to move people."  
  
"Stop fishing for compliments," Elias dips his head to nibble lightly at Jon's neck. "You can have as many as you want. You can have hosannas all night, if you like." Jon shivers against him. Elias is certain he's the only thing holding Jon upright.  
  
"I-I still don't understand why you hired me. Was it for this?" Jon laugh is shaky. "Because, if so, I'm almost too confused to be insulted."  
  
"If you're expecting me to tell you I chose you because you were the best candidate, I'm sorry Jon, but you weren't." As much as Elias regrets taking down the temperature of the conversation, Jon needs this. There are, though it can be hard to remember with a squirming Archivist against him, more important things than getting his dick wet. Elias can tell, that though Jon's not surprised by his answer, he is stung.  
  
"Right."  
  
Elias releases Jon's wrists, and cups his face, raising it to peer into his eyes. "I chose you because no one would work harder. No one would give more." It connects because it's the truth, and because it's exactly what Jon needs to hear. He's a man who wants to be consumed completely by something great to the point of his own destruction. And Elias is going to give it to him.


End file.
